"Shut up," Brice snatched the steer wheel, turning it into a curb on West Chicago.
"The same way I'm out here stripping because I need money."
"You don't feel no regret for cheating with me or leaving me at the altar," Yasmine said, gaining control of the steer wheel. Then she maneuvered around two cars. She drove close to a Honda Civic, tapping her horn. The driver blew back and merged into the next lane. Both of them stay in their lanes, she sped pass.
"Arcadio shot his hand off because he didn't recruit you to sell drugs," Yasmine said with lights flashing behind her car. She rolled the window down, steering the car to park.
A cop emerged from an unmarked black car. He put his cigarette out with the bottom part of his thick gummy type gym shoe. He took his gun out the holster, keeping it close to his leg and slow his pace to Yasmine's window.
"Madame your license and registration," asked the officer.
"You mean miss," Yasmine said. "Officer, I'm sorry I left my driver license at home."
"It's Lt. Jace," said the man dressed in knit shirt and jeans. His face perforated. "Are you Mines, the name on the license plate?"
"No I was using her car to drop off costumes at the club," Yasmine said, smiling looking down at her breast. Drivers slow to stop and gawk at the three. Why were people nosy when it was nothing they could do?
"I need your identification."
"Bull crap," Brice said, pushing Yasmine back to look at the cop. "Where were you at last night when a girl was beaten?"
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